Having Once Seen
by Tempered-Grief
Summary: A muggle girl accidently stumbles upon Godric's Hollow the night Harry's parents die. She is blinded by a strange green light, but not before she describes Harry's birthplace in her diary. A strange letter arrives on her bed - possibly the key to seeing
1. What I can't forget/remember...

A/N: I hope it's not so full of mistakes anymore. I MIGHT write another one about what happens after she grows up. Tell me what you think  
  
Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters belong to, well, her.  
  
Having Seen Once…  
  
They say I'm pretty. They say it's a shame; a pretty face, wide blue eyes that seem to see beyond what's there. I wouldn't know if I'm beautiful or not. I haven't seen my own reflection since I was eight. In fact, I haven't seen anything since I was eight.  
  
It's not like I was born blind, or I was blinded by some accident in an automobile. That would be forgivable... pure and heartrending, but not a mystery. I can't see for a reason that no one knows, not even myself. I can remember everything clearly, but that means nothing. What I remember certainly can't be real. I have myself convinced that I might have taken a knock on the head, or maybe I had a seizure. That's what everyone else assumes too. It's easy for them to be convinced; they don't have unreal images filling their head every moment every day. I can't see with my eyes open, but I see inside my head all the time. Strange pictures... horrible screams. NO! I'm trying to forget! And yet I can remember the things I'm not supposed to. Things that aren't supposed to happen... but I think they did?  
  
I had just turned eight – the day before Halloween. For my birthday, Mum and Dad gave me a beautiful bike with streamers on the handlebars and a pair of pink sneakers. Aunt Minerva sent me a diary with a pen that wrote in any color I wanted. I remember thinking this pen was strange, but with things like e-mail, video games, and airplanes, I'm sure a simple novelty is a possibility. She also sent me a letter full of Aunt Minerva wisdom. She was my favorite aunt, but mum didn't seem to like her much. Whenever I asked her why, she always turned a bit pink and her eyes bulged out of her head. She said she didn't associate with miscreants like her half-sister. I didn't know what mum meant, because I always got along perfectly with my aunt. We were so much alike. I haven't heard from since I went blind. I don't know why. I don't even worry about it anymore.  
  
I felt too old to go trick or treating, so I set out on my bike, wearing my new shoes, with the exciting prospect of empty diary pages tucked under my arms. Where to go? I was an eight year old with a sense of adventure and a whole suburb to explore. I decided on the abandoned housing projects a half mile away from my house. Technically speaking, they were off limits (if mum ever found out!), but I felt fearless in my pink sneakers.  
  
The sign read "Godric's Hollow". Another sign warned against trespassers. I peered past the hedges only to see a few broken down houses and some trash littering a crumbling walk. It looked like fun! So I parked my bike...and I crossed. I curse my curiosity; it never did me any good.  
  
The broken down houses had disappeared, and in their place stood several odd, but livable, domiciles faintly tinted with the glow of the setting sun. The houses had chimneys that puffed out purple or green smoke, and gardens with a variety of startling plants growing from them. Lights shown from peculiarly shaped windows that were placed at odd angles. At the time, I remember wondering why no children played in the chilly evening, and why, as interesting as they were, the houses were all so tightly drawn up. I was sure that if I tried one of the doors, I would find it locked against me. However was all very cozy, and strikingly parallel to the world I had just come from. It was perfect subject matter for my blank journal. I scrabbled for my pen and slunk down the walk until I found an empty lot with trees I could sit under without being seen. There was a place for a house, but none stood there. I settled down at the base of a large oak and changed my pen to write in green. I don't know why I chose green; blue has always been my favorite color. Blue was the color of the sky and the beach I had went to with Aunt Minerva when I was six. I had saved every blue ribbon I had ever won in essay contests. Blue was my writing color, but that day I wrote in emerald green. It seemed fitting. I began to write down everything; the sounds, the smells, and even the strange shapes the clouds were taking. My writing was so vivid that anyone could read the pages and find themselves right where I sat. I felt like I was weaving pictures instead of words. It was powerful and maybe a little magical. I don't hold with such nonsense as magic, but I might have believed in it right then.  
  
I do not know how long I wrote, but I found myself lost in the writing. It became hard to see, so I leaned my head against the tree to rest my eyes. My black hair was slowly unraveling from it's tight bun, but I could fix it before I got home. I blinked awake what seemed like a minute later, but things were very different. Darkness had completely fallen (I was going to be in trouble, yet again). It was cold, even for October, and the air was tense and frightening. I rubbed my eyes and stood up, only to come face to face with a house. The empty lot was now very much full. A nice two-story building stood prominently in the clearing. It was almost as if the house had been there the whole time, but it was a well-kept secret. (A/N: Ohhhhh….you get it now.) I had to leave, it was late, and I didn't feel at ease in this place that had so inspired me earlier. I turned to go, but something stopped me. Something high and cruel. A laugh. Shouts came from inside the house.  
  
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" a man's voice cried out. There was a sound of someone stumbling from inside the house, and a door bursting open. More laughter. I didn't think, I just ran. The door was wide open, but I wasn't sure it was safe to just enter. So I ran to a window nearest to the laughter. I stood on tiptoe and looked inside. The scene that unfolded before my eyes was the last I ever saw.  
  
"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything!" a woman was cowering in the corner, a small bundle in her arms. She was looking at a tall, black robed figure who was brandishing a stick high in the air.  
  
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" He demanded. Then, "Avada Kedavra!"  
  
A bit of green light ensued from his stick, and a rushing noise filled the air. The woman (Lily, was it?) slumped over, unmistakably dead. The man brushed her aside and turned his stick upon the baby. He screamed again, but this time, it didn't seem to go as planned. Green light filled the room. It was the brightest light I've ever seen, indeed, the last light I ever saw. Some force knocked me backwards from the window. My head connected with something, the tree perhaps, and I lost consciousness.  
  
I don't know how much time passed before I became aware of a baby crying. I opened my eyes and blinked, but all I saw was black. The baby wailed and howled, but no one seemed to be around. I sat up, a little unsteadily, and rubbed my eyes harder. Still, I could see nothing. It finally dawned on me, I really couldn't see. I curled up and hoped that someone would hear that baby, and that whoever had killed his mother wasn't still around. It wasn't long before heavy footsteps crunched on the walk. I held myself tighter and prayed that whoever it was could help me. The footsteps went right past me.  
  
"Oh! Lily n' James! NO!" a great rumbling yell filled the air. Just as they quieted, the baby started in again and I heard a gasp.  
  
"Lil' Harry? No, it can't be...could it? It is! You ARE alive. Dumbledore was right."  
  
I didn't know what was going on, but this man scared me, so I tried to pretend I was invisible.  
  
A deafening roar filled the air and I felt the ground shake as something heavy landed within a foot of my crouching form. This was too much, I blacked out again.  
  
"Is she stable enough to perform a memory charm on yet?"  
  
"No memory charm could totally erase what she remembers?"  
  
"So she really saw? She saw Voldemort? She saw his defeat?"  
  
"I don't know. It looks as if she did, poor child. The light that goes with the killing curse must've blinded her."  
  
"An hour ago, I saw you put a little baby on the doorstep of his future. You seemed so sure. What about now? What are not sure of, Albus?"  
  
"How she will deal with not seeing."  
  
"Can't we fix it? She's just a muggle after all. She's scarred by something she'll never fully understand."  
  
"It's sad, yes, but there's no way to fix it. She's not a witch. Any spell I can think of will only work on magical folk."  
  
"So she'll have a half memory of something that will be kept from her, she will never fully forget this, AND she'll be blind forever?  
  
"My dear Minerva, I said the spells would only work on witches and wizards. This does not necessarily mean forever. You yourself at age eight did not go about casting spells and the like..."  
  
The kindly voice faded out. Who were they? Where was I? I couldn't think clearly, and I kept falling deeper into sleep, but there was a man and a woman. The woman's name was the same as my favorite aunt's, but that didn't make sense. I never saw her unless it was summer...  
  
I am now waking up again. That's why I try not to think about it. I try not to believe what I saw because I always slip into like it's happening all over again. I'm eight again, even though I turn eleven at next October...a little over two months from now. I always see it all again, and awake to the whispered voices of the man and woman. Except now, the whispers continue. I am wide-awake with my eyes open (as if that mattered), but I still hear whispering. It sounds more like the fluttering of wings, though. I feel softness on my face and I hear a light hooting sound near my bed. A muffled thump and something lands on my bed. I have to feel around to find what it is. My hands close over something that feels very much like an envelope. When did I get a letter? Why am I imagining owls? I will find out what it says tomorrow. Mum will read it to me. I have so many things that I can't read myself, and she's always been sympathetic in that respect. Except, I won't let her read the diary. It contains something very special to someone, I know it must. That baby who cried, if he lived, he probably never saw his home again. I will find him and give it to him someday. It's something I once saw, but since I can't see anymore, it will mean more to him. Besides, I'll never see again. After all, I'm not what the man called a witch or wizard, am I. 


	2. Learning the Truth

I am sitting in an empty train compartment. My things are stowed in another car somewhere, so every seat is vacant except for mine. The other passengers don't know quite what to think of me. I've had a few visitors - some pretending to be well wishers while others are blatantly curious. It's not really unpleasant. I'd rather be by myself just now. I need some time to collect my wits before we get to school. A few people I have spoken to claim to be nervous. I don't know how to feel. This is all so new to me!  
  
It all started with a fluttering of wings and a bulky envelope filled with mystery. I took it down to my mother, and she let the breakfast dishes clatter to the floor as she sat down rather heavily. I couldn't see her face, but I have learned to read her voice over the years, and her tone was filled with an unknown emotion. I think it may have been anger.  
  
"Tristess, what have you done?" I felt her hand clutch my shoulder rather firmly. "Who have you spoken to? How did they find out about you? Answer me, Tristess!"  
  
"What are you talking about? What does my letter say? I haven't spoken to anyone; you never let me out of the house..."  
  
"Did I ask you to smart off? NO! Tell me how they found out about your...your..."  
  
"My what? Read my letter, mum. Is it that bad? Is it from Aunt Minerva?"  
  
At my words, she cuffed me so violently around the head that my eyes watered with tears. I braced myself for more. They say they blindfolded Christ before throwing punches at him. "Predict who will strike you next, Jesus!" they had shouted (A/N or something to that effect...). When you don't know where the next blow will come from, it makes it all the more painful.  
  
But she didn't hit me again. Instead she sank to the floor wailing, "You value your disgusting aunt more than me. You want to go be with her? Is that it? You'd rather live with wise, beautiful Minerva than with your own mother and father. You little idiot. Leave if you want to, but God help you if you ever want to come back here. You think their little world of fantasy will be any kinder to your handicap? Go, then. If you can find a way."  
  
I felt the letter slap my face as she threw it at me. It sliced a long, stinging paper cut against my cheek, but I was more confused than hurt. Of course I would rather live with Aunt Minerva, but is that what the letter said? If mum wouldn't read it to me, I couldn't know. I had more questions than I had ever had in my life, but I knew not to interrogate mum. She was likely to explode at my queries.  
  
She began to mutter incoherently. I scooped up several sheets of paper and the envelope and groped my way into the living room. I sat in front of the fireplace and felt it's warmth tickle my chin and stinging cheek. Not for the first time in nearly three years, I wish I could see the orange flames that never danced in the same place twice. I reached my hand towards the fire, daring myself to go closer and closer, trying to guess where the air ended and fire began. I played these games often, sometimes losing, but always learning how far I could go.  
  
A sudden, drafty breeze stirred around the room and I jumped a little, accidentally pushing my arm in the fire. There was a moment of brief pain before a woman's voice called out quickly, "Diagon Alley!" The fire took on a room temperature, someone grabbed me from behind, and I fell forward. Hands righted me as I began to plummet straight down. There was a whisper in my ear, "Don't worry, Triss, just keep still until we land."  
  
Soot and ash stung my eyes, so I closed them. The decline eventually slowed, and I felt an abrupt jerk as my feet hit the ground.  
  
"Professor Flitwick, your passenger floo-powder is a success, but I dare say it's a bit rough on old shins." The woman who had been in my living room was speaking these words behind me. A man somewhere to my right chuckled merrily and slapped his hand on a table.  
  
"I knew I should have placed some more anti-ache charms on it. Oh well, you've gotten her!" The man's voice was high and squeaky, but not at all unpleasant.  
  
"Triss, dear, don't be afraid. This might all seem very strange to you, but I assure you everything is fine. Welcome to Diagon Alley! We will get your school supplies here, and then you can stay with me until the start of term. That's a full month with your auntie, do you think you can handle it?"  
  
"Aunt...Minerva? Is that you? Where am I?" My voice shook and I trembled a little.  
  
"I've told you, you're in Diagon Alley to get your school things. Of course it's Minerva. I told you I was coming in the letter, remember?" She sounded a little impatient, but not in an unkind way.  
  
"Mum didn't read me the letter. She read it herself and then..." I felt the scratch on my cheek, "She gave it back. She was very upset; you don't think she'll be even more distressed that I've disappeared from the house, do you?" I was very worried. There were gasps all around me as it dawned on whoever was listening that I didn't have the slightest idea what was going on.  
  
"I knew your mother and I weren't on the, er, best of terms. Please believe me when I tell you I didn't know that she would take it this way. I'll send someone to explain things to her. Are you feeling all right? You look pale."  
  
"I feel fine, I think. Yes, fine. I just want to know what's happening. Could you explain things to me too?"  
  
"Yes, of course. Come sit at this table and I'll tell you all about it. Hungry? I'll order us an early dinner. Here, let me help you with that chair. There you go. Now, listen carefully. I have much to tell you, and it may seem implausible at first, but you need to hear it."  
  
I sat down in the chair she had drawn for me. I heard several other chairs scraping the floor as whomever else was in the room took seats also.  
  
"Tristess, have strange things ever happened when you were angry or upset?" she asked me in a bracing tone. I could think of several instances - the plates and cups breaking in my hands as my mother yelled at me to wash the dishes faster, how I always seemed to find things with my hands in places I had already felt for them. I nodded my head slowly, not knowing what all this was leading to.  
  
"There are two types of humans in this world - those with no magical powers, also known as muggles, and those with magical powers: witches and wizards. Do you understand?"  
  
Of course I didn't. There was a faint rushing sound in my ears as I desperately tried to attach some logic to what she was saying. My ten year old mind can only comprehend so much, and while it might be brighter than most other's my age, I felt left behind in this conversation.  
  
"We, the magical persons, have chosen not to make it known that we exist. Aside from a few muggles, very few `normal' people know that there even is such thing is magic. They dismiss it, deny it, and generally pass it off as fiction. But, we are real. Yes, we, Tristess. Your mother is a muggle of the worst kind, but she comes from a family rich in magic. All her half sisters, her mother and stepfather, her grandparents... she has always felt left out of the loop, and this has lead to some bitterness on her part. She never told you because she convinced herself it was shameful to be related to wizards. Fortunately, her childishness didn't affect you any. You're as much of a witch as I am, and that is saying something."  
  
"Here, here!" An amused, familiar voice quipped.  
  
It took me a few seconds to soak it all in. If what she was saying was true, I held powers to do incredible things...impossible even. Aunt Minerva continued in her matter of fact voice that I knew better than to mistake for harshness. She told me about a whole world I never knew existed, about famous people who were magic, like me, and about a school where witches and wizards my age could go and learn how to use their powers. As outlandish as the tales were, I believed every one of them as if reality were food and I had been starving for answers since I became aware of the concept of truth. She described battles between good and evil and even enlightened me on the subject of magical creatures, which differed from the ones I was used to. After she had shared everything she could think of, she paused and asked me if I had any questions. I had nothing but questions; however, there was one that pressed heavily on my mind. It involved certain memories that I had tried so hard to  
suppress.  
  
"You must have noticed by now that I'm a little, well, special. You seem to have known that before you brought me here. Can you tell me why? Does it have anything to do with this magic?" I was almost afraid to ask. What if they thought I was crazy? Did they know what I thought I remembered? Had my mother known, she would have shipped me off to a nut house straight away, but would these people do the same?  
  
My aunt did not speak next. Instead, the familiar voice spoke calmly from a spot near me. It was a man, and I could tell from his kindly tenor that I like him.  
  
"Hello, Tristess. I am Albus Dumbledore, and it's my place to inform you of this most interesting story. In order to tell you, I must start from the beginning and go back to the time when a very evil wizard rose to power. His name was Voldemort, and many still cringe when it is said." This Dumbledore man began to weave a tale more remarkable and more frightening than any I had heard yet. He told about this evil wizard and how he killed and destroyed. Finally, he arrived at a point in his story and his tone changed completely. When I learned of how he met his end by way of a small baby whose parents were killed by an irreversible curse, I pieced the picture together. I had witnessed the murder of this boy's mother, and the downfall of the most powerful dark wizard of my time. The boy who lived was out there in the muggle world somewhere. That meant I had a chance of finding him.  
  
"You see, your eyes saw both a very great wickedness and then a blindingly honorable occurrence. Both happened so closely together, that it was almost at once to your poor eyes. This has happened before, though it is very rare. Your blindness is no ordinary disability. It is called Brilliant-Darkness, and there is only one way to heal it. It only works on wizards because it is purely magic inflicted. We couldn't make you forget it because remembering is part of the healing."  
  
His last words were sad, but I was overjoyed! There was a way I could see again!  
  
"Healed by magic, you mean? Can we do it now? Right away?"  
  
"No, no I'm afraid not. The process is highly advanced and it will take some time before you can fully see again. We will start your treatment soon after you began school."  
  
"School?" I said blankly. "I already go to school. It's for people like me, only I'm smarter than the others in my class. Is there a way I could attend the...wizard school?" Realization dawned on me. That's why I was here. My aunt often wrote about being a teacher and how she was much nicer to me than to her own students. She had called a man PROFESSER Flitwick. I was here to pick up my magical school things. I felt a little dizzy with it all.  
  
*~*~*  
  
My nose, ears, and fingers had always been extra-sensitive, but never had I been so confronted with smells, sounds, and feelings. Diagon Alley was filled with oddities. Aunt Minerva had held up a long stick...I mean a wand...and whispered a few peculiar words at me. She said they were for protection - not so that I wouldn't bump into things, but so that things wouldn't bump into me. We went to a clothing store where they fitted me with black robes. I told her I wanted red or gold ones, but she insisted on black.  
  
"All the students must wear black. Besides, not to be cruel, but I could get you one hundred red robes and you couldn't see them. You wouldn't even know the difference if you were wearing them instead of black."  
  
"I know, but red and gold were my favorite colors. They were bold without being too bright."  
  
"You still know bold and bright?" Her voice gave it away. She was on the verge of tears.  
  
"I remember it, yes."  
  
She bought me a red cloak with gold trim. I told her I was just being silly; she didn't have to. She bought it anyway.  
  
"You can't wear it around school, so learn to tell the difference between it and your black one. I do hope you end up in Gryffindor. The Slytherin bunch might give you a hard time for sporting those colors."  
  
I tried to remember what she had said about Gryffindor...Ah, yes! The brave ones. Well, good luck to me. I can't very well venture into the unknown when I can't see what's in front of me.  
  
We went to a wand shop. The owner's misty voice put me off a bit. He kept placing wands in my hand and telling me to wave them in the air. I couldn't see the effect, but some felt very cold while others slipped and slid in my hand. Finally, I closed my fingers around a large wand and my palm tingled. I brought it up and my hair swept back off my shoulders. Air rushed around the room, and I brought the wand down with an all mighty swish. The ground beneath me shook a little. All in all, I was very impressed. Mr. Ollivander, however, clicked his tongue.  
  
"It is a bit powerful than you, I think. Mahogany, twelve inches, inflexible. Has a dragon heartstring in the core. Meant more for someone less...slight. It seems to take to you, though. Do you think you can handle it?"  
  
"Of course she can handle it," my aunt snapped. "Can't you, Triss? Wrap it up, Mr. Ollivander. We have more shopping to do today."  
  
It was the first time I had ever heard the `teacher' side of my sweet Aunt Minerva. I feared for any student that dare cross her on a bad day. After we left the wand shop, we bought some crystal vials and a few disgusting potions ingredients. I wondered how I'd ever tell the beetle eyes and the grog-fish lungs apart, because I sure wasn't going to stick my hand down in the jar to check.  
  
Our last stop was the bookstore. This was the part I had been dreading. I had loved books when I was little. I had very few friends because reading was always more stimulating then childish games. But now...now I had only memories of written words to satisfy myself. Aunt Minerva would not be deterred.  
  
She talked a long while at the counter and finally told me to go to the back with the young clerk. The woman guided me behind the counter and through a door where she began to shuffle through boxes.  
  
"We don't get many requests for these contraptions, but we stock them all the same. They sell them at most magic shops, but these are especially good with books. The trick is to find one that will suit you best. Hear, lean your head to one side." I did as I was told. She fitted something small and cold inside my ear. Immediately I heard whispering sounds. They sounded a bit like a woman speaking through her nose.  
  
"There called Surrounding Interpreters, S.I. units for short. Not real intricate magic. They just translate your surroundings to you. There are different voices, and they follow your vocal commands. If you speak a destination, they can direct your steps. If you're faced with an unknown material like food, they can tell you what it is. They know colors, shapes, and weights. And...they can read. You will be able to adjust their sensitivity so that they don't read every little thing in sight. Let's try some more on, I can tell by your face that this one isn't pleasing."  
  
Indeed, the nasal woman was whispering book titles to me. It was very irritating. I was so excited about reading again, but my earpiece was annoying. I tried a few with different accents - the Cockney was too chipper, and the American man was much too flat. Another cold S.I. unit was placed in my ear, and I heard another woman's voice. It was warm and soothing. The woman was British, and I felt like it was not really magic at all, but a mother (a real mother) gently reading her daughter a bedtime story. I smiled.  
  
"Ah, yes. One of our first models. When Mr. Glen Torsck first thought of the idea, this woman came forth immediately. She graduated a few years before me. I didn't know her very well, but she seemed to have a big heart. Wanted to help the unfortunate. She lent her voice for the A.I. and you'll always find some motherly advice in her units. I think this will do you just fine."  
  
I agreed. To test it, I whispered, "Aunt Minerva." My feet automatically started moving. I was very tense because I couldn't grope about me for bearings. It went well, though, and I could feel Aunt Minerva beaming down on me.  
  
From there, we went to a pet shop. My unit whispered names, colors, and opinions about the odd creatures we found there. I walked around the shop, listening closely. Suddenly, I heard a very tiny mewing and something brushed against my ankle. I bent down and picked up what was unmistakably a very little kitten. It was soft, and it rubbed its head against my cut cheek. It purred loudly in one ear and settled its chin on my shoulder.  
  
"Kitten...black."  
  
So, a black kitten. It would match my school robes. Its bones were fragile, and tail still stuck out without bending. I knew it was what I wanted.  
  
We took the fireplace home again. Well, to my aunt's home. She bustled about, claiming that it wasn't much since she stayed in the school all time. She took my things to my room, but I insisted on putting them in their places myself, along with my possessions from home that had mysteriously appeared. It gave me a chance to really try my A.I. After a cheerful dinner, I tried to write again. I did not use the diary. Instead, I dipped a quill in some ink and began to write on a piece of parchment. I wrote all about that day. It took me over two hours, but not because I wrote so much. It just took so long! When I was done, I had my A.I. read it back to me. She commented.  
  
"Why, you write very well! How old are you, dear?" This took me by surprise, and unnerved me. Aunt Minerva said that the units sometimes took on the voice lender's personality, but it was just an echo. I took a breath and wrote: Ten, about to be eleven.  
  
"You're joking? I would never have guessed. It's awfully late; you'll need to get to bed soon."  
  
"Yes, ma'm." I whispered. "My name is Tristess. What should I call you?"  
  
"Your Royal Highness will do." She laughed loudly. "No, not really." More laughter. It was infectious. "You can call me Red, Crimson, Cherry...whatever. They're all nicknames of mine."  
  
"Red's my favorite color!"  
  
"Good. Now, that's enough chatting with me. I'm just a voice. You're a real person who needs sleep."  
  
She was so happy and genuine. I was unexpectedly overcome with the need for friendship. This was too good to be true.  
  
The rest of my summer, I did nothing but read and write. All my schoolbooks have creases in the spine since I've already cracked them open. I had to buy more paper because I used all mine. I made up for four years of being word-deprived. I feel a little better, and I will begin my treatment soon. I don't know how it's done, but maybe by this time next year, I will be able to see.  
  
The train is starting to slow down. My stomach is twisting into a knot. Red whispers instructions as I find my way to the compartment door.  
  
"Tristess! Hey, it's me again, Bill." Oh no, not the exasperating Bill Weasley and his constant stream of talk.  
  
"Can I help you with anything? Are you nervous yet? Have you thought about what we talked about? You know, which house you want? Hey! Maybe we'll get into the same house! Wouldn't that be great? I wonder how it's done. I'm the first of my brothers to come here. They'll all want to know back home. I don't think I'll tell them. Well, maybe Charlie. He's next. Then there's Percy. I don't guess he'll want to know. He might consider it cheating. The twins will hound me endlessly. I'll have to owl them right away. Ron doesn't care about anything but sweets. Ginny is still afraid of the bogie man. Neither of them will need to know..."  
  
I have already heard his entire brother and sister's names at least eight times. He's really excited. Red says he's cute, but she's also biased. He has red hair, and that's her favorite. She also says she knows his mom and dad. Sometimes I forget she's just a piece of magic.  
  
Bill grabs my hand and leads me to the exit of the train. He doesn't need to, but he's a little wound up, I think. I'm about to face a strange school, strange people, and a test of some sort that will put me in a house. Not even Red can calm my nerves.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Yeech! I didn't even write this much on my English report. It's almost midnight here in Texas, but I'm betting that we have a snow day tomorrow. At least, I hope we do. Maybe this will clear up confusion about memory charms, Samantha. ERIC - I agree that regaining her sight instantly would be a cheap plot device. Don't worry; she's really going to have to work for it. Just to clear up a question that you guys might have about this chapter: No, I did not extensively research the Weasley family. Bill may not even be old enough for this. Don't nit-pick, though. Just go with it. Oh, and I'm no good with romance, so don't over analyze Bill's attachment to Tristess. I'm going to make him a mixture between Colin Creevy and Hagrid. He's sincerely a good guy, but maybe a little annoying. He's just happy he's found someone who can't evade him as easily. Go build a snowman! -Tempered 


	3. The Treatments

Winterguard came to a (graceful) ending, UIL one-act is finally over, prom planning has slowed a bit now that all the big things are out of the way, and I have gotten all my driver's ed. hours taken care of. So, I ishould/i have time to write...NOT!!!! Concert season is grabbing us by the hair and forcing me to pour even more of my already empty soul into the band program. I'm using this 45 minutes of wasted time the school likes to call CAD class to write a quick chapter. Harry Potter and all related themes, characters, and ideas don't belong to me. If I owned all this, it would be just one more task to add to the ever growing list.  
  
My hands and feet grow cold as the magic constraints pin them down. I hear a whisper to begin, and I try to remember everything. I can see myself cautiously creeping to a window and raising my head to peer in. I see the defiant woman, I see her die... The wand is raised again, and I go completely cold. Green light explodes in my head and my eyes flicker open.  
  
"Where did you stop?" the inquisitive voice of Professor Dumbledore dissapates my brief confusion.  
  
"Same place." I answer, dejectedly.  
  
"That's four times now. We'd better call it a day. You are excused."  
  
My arms and legs are suddenly set free, and I feel my way to the door. I have to turn Red off for the treatments. I'm supposed to be able to see things for myself.  
  
"Thank you, Professor. Tomorrow - same time?"  
  
"Yes, I'll see you then. You're doing well, by the way."  
  
"Sure."  
  
I leave. For the past three days, I've been coming into this room and laying on a padded table, straining to remember certain...things. I'm perfectly clear on what it's suppose to do. Aunt Minerva said that it was very bright of me to grasp iabstract/i concepts like Good/Evil Extremeties. It turns out that light from a killing curse (so that's what it's called!) can't blind a person by itself. What I saw was very, very powerful evil magic used for a good cause. The intentions behind the killing curse were of pure hatred but were used to over power the intender. I was the only witness to this cosmic event. My brain wouldn't accept it, and so it shielded my eyes in shock. My treatment is just a relaxing, safe environment and me, trying to picture exactly what happened. The key to my recovery is to play memories in my head, right up until the point where I go blind, and try to see. I've heard the story again and again since I discovered that I'm a witch, so I know what I'll see. I just can't...see it yet. Maybe I do not grasp abstract concepts afterall.  
  
I am, however, doing well in all my classes. Being the only one who read those fascinating course books over the summer, I'm a little ahead of my year. This is what that musty smelling hat has told me,anyway. A shiver goes down my spine as Red directs me to the stairwell. I can still feel the fear that shook me as I stepped into that great hall on the first day. Even Bill stopped talking as he looked around and gasped. Red whispered only two words, and they were of no help.  
  
"It's enormous..." she breathed.  
  
"How..how big?" I stuttered.  
  
No answer. Just me and total darkness. Bill finally took my hand and led me along, having found his voice and talking endlessly. I bumped into several people (Bill was distracted). One thing I noticed right away was that seeing students didn't seem to take to me. Half of them made littly pity noises, while the other half either shied away or snickered when I made mistakes. Thank goodness for Red.  
  
The sorting was explained to us. We were to try on a hat and it would read our minds. Not frightening at all, right? A few more steps, and all I could hear was a loud crowd suddenly hushing, anticipating.  
  
"Fresh meat." I heard someone whisper. Titters of laughter occured all around.  
  
Immediately, my Aunt began to call names aloud. Red started chattering again, about each student and whether or not she knew their family. At long last, I heard  
  
"McGonnagal, Tristess."  
  
I smiled. My last name was dropped when I abandoned my muggle family. I'm now a true McGonnagal. People began to whisper fervently as I made my way to wherever the hat was. Red guided my steps. I shoved the hat on my head.  
  
"Hello, Lily."  
  
"My name is Tristess,er, sir." Red gave a gasp of alarm and turned herself off.  
  
"Yes, my mistake dear. Now, let's see. You definately have a mind. You're ahead of your class, no? Well, Ravenclaw would be a good match, but you've got more, I see. You are resourceful. YOu have to be! Slytherin? No, they are not kind to difference. Hufflepuff, you haven't the patience. You are brave, though. TO come here without seeing, brave indeed. Well, that settles it. GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
It was a terrifying moment. If the hat thought I was someone else at first, then it does make mistakes! Perhaps I'm not brave... We'll see.  
  
Red never explained about the mistaken identity, or why she turned herself off. I don't really have time to hold conversations with her, I'm so busy! Along with all my course work, I've also undertaken the task of finding out everything I can about Harry Potter. He won't come to school for years and years, and I'll be gone when he does. I will find him, though. Maybe by the time I do, I will be able to watch his face as I hand him my diary. 


	4. A Little Progress

Don't be mad! I can explain everything...  
  
I am a lazy bum. There you have it. Actually, I was busier than I could have ever thought the last month of school. Apparently, positions of leadership require one to do stuff. Who knew? Now summer has started, and I can finally return to my passion...Or not. I got a job at Blockbuster, and now I'm slaving for Viacom Inc. I also am in two plays at the local theatre. Okay, so I don't have time for anything. Here's a desperate attempt to continue my story before I lose it for good:  
  
Chapter 4: A Little Progress  
  
"...and then she grasped the necklace, realizing with her dying breath that perhaps she had been mistaken. The fallen form of her brother began to stir. He raised his head and stared straight into her eyes.   
  
'Not dead yet, Claire?'  
  
She gasped in terror and tried to summon strength from somewhere deep inside herself. He started to rise and crawled a few feet towards her. It was then that she saw the wand, HER wand, clutched tightly in his hand..."  
  
"Miss McGonagall! Did you not hear my directions? I said find a partner."  
  
Oh, yeah. Charms class. I slip the book into my bag, thinking ahead to when I could next find time for reading. Red laughs lightly. Wizard fiction makes muggle stories look like boring documentaries on the mating rituals of wood-ants. Professor Flitwick needn't have snapped. I hear someone slide into the seat next to me. I'll never, to my dying day it seems, be in want of a partner when Bill is around. This is a good thing, though, as Charms is certainly not my best class. I don't know why, but for some reason feathers refuse to fly for me. I excel everywhere else, but I'll be damned if I could levitate a molecule. Bill explains the task and we (he) start (s) in with the charming.   
  
Next I have history. The aforementioned muggle literature makes Professor Binns' teaching look like the fast paced world of growing grass. Instead of going straight to sleep, however, it is time for a session with Dumbledore again. "Today," I tell myself. My stomach does a flop.  
  
Students rush past me on their way to class, and I follow Reds perfect instructions all the way to the Headmaster's office.  
  
"You're going to turn me off now, aren't you dear?" She sounds faintly disappointed. She knows nothing of why I'm blind or how I'm healing. I don't want to tell her. At first, it was nice to have a friend, but there's something eerie about her. It's as if she doesn't know she's just a piece of magic. I'm not too keen on becoming her close companion.  
  
"Yes, Red. I'll turn you on in an hour or so."  
  
The door slides open and I sense Dumbledore's tall presence. He sweeps me into the room.  
  
"Come, come! I have a good feeling about today."  
  
"You said that yesterday," I say, not meaning to sound impertinent, but I'm sure I come across as cheeky.  
  
"Yes, well, it's a week until your birthday, or so your Aunt tells me, and I was thinking that you could see in time to open lovely presents by yourself."  
  
His cheer is genuine. I can't help but feel a little more hopeful as he helps me onto the 'operating table'. My aunt bursts into the room and sighs with relief.  
  
"Oh, good. I'm on time. I was worried I wouldn't be due to some little ruffian and his pet miniature dragon. Can you believe it? It was tied up under his bed."  
  
I smile. Two months ago, this would have sounded ridiculous. Now it's (somewhat) normal. The restraints are clasped, and I feel myself relax. "Please," I whisper, "please let me see more today." I have yet to see anything that I haven't before. I start to remember. The scene is very vivid in my mind. The houses, the gardens, the huge tree...it's all there. Time is accelerated as I remember more and more...and then the laughter. I gag a bit in the back of my throat. That laughter disgusts me. I now know who emits it. I'm peeking in the window. The wand goes up, words are shouted, a woman falls. Now for the part when I stop remembering. I've got to force myself to watch. The green light fills the room and I fly backwards. I don't feel my head hit the tree, but I know it does. I know I'm about to black out, but this time I raise my eyes to see the house again. Light shoots from every window. Just above the roof, high in the sky, a greenish horror illuminates the clouds. A large green skull with a snake crawling...well...it's flickering. I can't really see where the snake when. The earth seems to shake with the anticipation of what is about to happen. The skull ceases to flicker, grows very bright, and then explodes into thousands of photons of light, and I finally black out once more. The darkness fills my head. My heart is pounding and my head hurts. I blink awake on the table. What was that? A flash of white hair! The color of skin as someone's hand brushes my face. I think I saw...no. It is black once more. I see nothing.  
  
"Triss, dear, are you all right?"  
  
"I...I saw a skull above the house." My aunt gasps.  
  
"The dark mark? Indeed. Well, I'm happy to say you've made some progress. Just a little, but more than enough for one day."  
  
"You mean...I saw something for real? I wasn't just imagining? Oh, then can't I try again? Please! I'll just try again..." but Dumbledore is already untying me. "C'mon! Aunt Minerva? What did I see? Let me try..."  
  
I jump to my feet, trying to plead my case, only to stumble a bit as dizziness fills my head.   
  
"Okay, maybe not. I'll just catch a nap in history." Dumbledore chuckles appreciatively, but my aunt just instructs me to lay down in my room until dinner. Before I leave, she embraces me quickly and tells me she's very proud. Just as my aching head hits the pillow, I realize that I never turned Red on after I left. I somehow made it back on my own. How did that happen? Oh, my head hurts to badly to think. Tomorrow, I'll try again. Yes, I'll just have to try. 


End file.
